


Point Zero

by hollowbirds (torturousthings)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Sad, Suicide, brallon, it's a short thing i wrote, sad thing???, someone teach me how to tag shit lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torturousthings/pseuds/hollowbirds
Summary: A voice through the phone isn't enough.





	Point Zero

**Author's Note:**

> based loosely on please don't jump (it's christmas) by dallon weekes!
> 
> thank you to @stray-dog-sick for coming up with the base idea kdjsfhsg ily

 

The phone buzzed from the table inside of the apartment. Dallon turned his head towards the source of the disturbance, looking through the opened glass doors, but didn’t move. The wind was strong; that was to be expected from a 36th floor, but then again Dallon hadn’t exactly predicted that his hair would be getting in his eyes. You don’t plan things like that when you want to die. He pushed the loose strands out of his face and shuddered.

 

Jesus. Why wouldn’t that phone just stop _buzzing_? 

 

Dallon stared down at the ground, looking so, so far away. He felt dizzy and turned away from the ledge. Maybe a drink of water would be good right now. If he was going to die, might as well not be thirsty. He took a few steps until he was back inside the apartment. 

 

The phone was still doing its thing, the noise against the wooden table worsening Dallon’s constant headache. That was part of why he had decided to go through with this; a never ending migraine, never easing either. Nothing looked like it made sense and Dallon couldn’t see anything he could look forward to; Brendon had been so distant these past weeks, and it was just a matter of time before he left, too. Might as well beat him to it. 

 

He looked at the phone; Brendon’s photo was flashing on the screen. It was a nice picture of him: he was laughing, holding something that looked like a milkshake. Dallon smiled slightly. That day had been one of the few where he had felt genuinely happy. They had adopted a puppy shortly after that picture had been taken; Brendon chose it and Dallon got to pick the name. 

 

“Zero,” he’d said. “The starting point of everything.” Brendon had nodded and held the puppy closer to his heart. It had looked so, so small in Brendon’s arms, and the boy was looking at him with so much love that Dallon couldn’t help but smile. 

 

Dallon’s heart twisted in his chest when he remembered the day they had to give Zero away. His big, watery eyes staring at the two of them as his new owner took him away. They couldn’t keep him. He could never hold on to anything. 

 

The phone stopped its frantic buzzing as soon as Dallon decided to pick it up. Brendon had called eight times; there was one message. 

 

Dallon knew one thing: he didn’t have the strength to listen to that voice he loved, the voice that seemed to soothe him, always. He knew exactly what Brendon was saying in that message; he could already hear it. 

 

_I’m sorry,_ he thought. _I’m sorry I can’t be enough for you. I’m sorry this is what I’ve become. I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with everything that happens after, alone. I’m sorry._

 

The tap made a familiar rumbling noise before water started streaming from it. They’d both been saying it needed fixing for months now, but neither of them never actually called the plumber. Not that it mattered now. Filling up the glass, Dallon glanced back at his phone again. Maybe he’d give Brendon a shot. Maybe. What would it change anyway? 

 

Picking up the phone, he walked back to the opened doors, feeling the cold prick of the wind on his neck. 

 

He brought the phone to his ear, bracing himself for the voice he used to love so much. Brendon’s panicked voice came through the device. 

 

“Dal? Are you okay? Why didn’t you pick up? Please call me back, Dal. Please. Don’t do anything stupid. I love you.” 

 

Dallon always answered his phone.

 

 

Leaving the phone on the table, he took off the blue scarf Brendon had given him for their three-year anniversary and put it on the back of a chair. It’d be a pity to stain the fabric; Brendon always said the colour brought out his eyes.

 

 

 

The wind was just as strong as he walked back outside, the ground just as far. 

 

 

 

_It’s okay,_ he thought. _I’ve always wanted to fly._


End file.
